Just Waiting
by Damien J. Frost
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, and all items associated with, are property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., et al. There is no profit being gained from the content of this story and it is to be used solely for private entertainment purposes. The plot is the intellectual property of the writer. No parts of this story are to be duplicated or posted elsewhere without the expressed permission of the author.
This story is rated "K" or "G" by the guidelines of the fansite on which it is posted.
He stormed into the library, muttering curses under his breath and shooting evil glares at anyone who dared look at him. Even Madam Pince seemed reluctant to reprimand the boy.
Stopping by the table nearest the Restricted Section, he saw her bag and books sprawled over the surface in their usual order.
Parchment in the center, book to the left, quill and inkpot placed to the right. Extra books stacked to the left side of her chair, bag hanging off the back with three extra quills poking out within easy reach.
With a sneer, he turned and started toward the shelves, walking quickly and looking up and down each aisle until her frizzy mop came into view.
He snarled as he stormed up the aisle towards her. Coming to a stop next to her, his breathing erratic and uneven, his mercury eyes blazed at her in anger.
She, however, ignored him. Her chocolate eyes skimmed through the titles on the shelf in front of her until they lighted upon the one she was looking for. Pulling it off, she opened the book and scanned the first few pages before nodding triumphantly and snapping it shut.
Then, as if he wasn't even standing there, she walked by him and out to her perfectly organized workspace.
With a growl and several more random curses, he followed her.
Reaching the table at the same time, he pulled out her chair without a thought, waited for her to sit, and pushed it back in before taking a seat himself.
He glared at her, his anger rising with every passing second. He knew there was nothing he to do but wait, however.
So wait he did.
Legs crossed, he leaned back in his chair and glared at her.
His eyes narrowed as he watched her bite the center of her bottom lip when she paused to think of a word. His lip curled at the way she absentmindedly brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, only for it to resume it former place in a matter of seconds, showing that there was some order to that wild mane. His brow furrowed as her hand flowed over the parchment, leaving nothing but perfect lines of script in its wake.
He couldn't take anymore.
"Granger, I'm going to kiss you now," he whispered, leaning forward.
"Thanks for the warning," the witch in question smiled softly, not looking up. "But you're going to have to wait."
He growled again in frustration, running a hand through his platinum hair as he slumped back in defeat.
Slowly, it dawned on him that the only sound in the library was that of her quill scratching away.
Looking around in annoyance, he saw several people staring at him and the witch seated to his right.
A leveled glare of malevolence was enough to send the curious children back to their assignments.
He returned his attention to her and saw an amused smile upon her lips. His own pursed in annoyance.
"What's so entertaining?" he snapped, a litter louder than he had intended.
She shook her head, still not looking up at him, the smile not fading in the least.
Silence reigned again, and he sneered at her ink-stained hands. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the way she so calmly went from one book to the next, acting as if she was only looking at them to be sure of something she already knew.
Which was the truth, he supposed.
She was a know-it-all.
He felt his anger swell again at the fact that she held something else over him – not that she could help it. She just had to be smarter than him. Not much, but still, it was the principle of the thing.
As he watched her work at her essay with a passion that most reserved for the bedroom, he knew that she was aware of the cause of his current temper.
Still, she wrote away on an assignment not due for a week, completely ignoring him and his very important anger problem.
"Granger…" he growled after another five minutes passed.
Not even pausing, she responded in that professional, clipped tone that drove him mad. "If you cannot sit there quietly until I am done, then you can find somewhere else to be."
With a snort of disgust, he sat there, his arms crossed and glared at her again.
It was a futile effort, he knew. But there was nothing else to do until she decided there was.
So his eyes wandered from her unmanageable mud-colored hair to her slim, pierced ears. From there, his eyes traced her jawline, and he noticed a few freckles that dusted the lower part of her cheek.
Her chin was just perfect for her, not too obtrusive, but just enough for her to stick it out when she was making a point.
Moving his gaze to her lips, his own curled in disgust. She had a small dab of ink on the top of her lip, and her quill was currently caught between her perfect teeth. Her lips were a dark peach, with no lipstick or any other adornment women usually wore.
With a roll of his eyes, he moved up to her nose – her best feature, in his opinion. Small and perfectly proportioned, it had a dusting of freckles so light you had to almost be kissing her to see them.
As his gaze passed from her nose to her eyes, he was slightly startled to see them looking back at him. The color of dark chocolate, he always tried to avoid them, because it would cause him to go barmy and forget himself.
With another amused smile and shake of her head, she went back to her essay.
Deciding not to study her features anymore – not that he needed to – he closed his eyes and slouched in his chair, deciding a nap would be in order.
Before he dozed off, however, he heard the rustling of parchment and cracked open one eye.
She was finally packing up.
With a triumphant sigh he stood and began helping her, hoping to make it go by that much faster.
After shelving the last book, which, ironically, had been the one she grabbed when he had found her, he walked back to the table only to find her already on her way out of the library with no signs of waiting for him.
A strangled scream rose from his throat as he walked out after her, the only thing keeping him from running being his dignity.
His legs may have been longer, but he knew that advantage didn't mean it would be easy to catch up to the young genius.
After five minutes of turning a corner only to see her turning another one, he let his pride be damned and ran.
He hurtled around the corner only to stop in confusion. There was nothing but hallway and windows in front of him. She had disappeared.
Closing his eyes, he felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment when he heard her laughter from behind him.
Turning, he opened his eyes a crack to see her beaming smile spread across her face.
"You're insufferable," he growled, stepping toward her.
Her lips quirked at his statement. "Am I now?"
His eyes narrowed again at the witch in front of him, as if he was deciding whether or not she truly was. "I'm not sure…" he drawled, closing the remaining distance between them and wrapping her in his arms. "Maybe you could convince me otherwise."
She laughed again, and he couldn't help but smile at the pure sound.
It was unlike anything else in his life.
"You're incorrigible," she whispered, smacking his arm lightly.
"At least we're on the same page," he smirked.
"Mmhmmm…" she hummed, her lips quirked again. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again.
"Draco, you can kiss me now."
A smile spread as he leaned forward. "Just waiting for you to say so," he whispered.
In the bliss that followed, he forgot why he had been so angry with her in the first place.